


Leave Me Breathless

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Jensen, Dorms, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fraternities & Sororities, M/M, Top Misha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s pretty cliché, as far as college banalities go; if Jensen were to create a list, <em>crushing on your RA</em> would probably end up in the top five along with <em>the freshman fifteen</em> and <em>shmobs</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came to be after I texted my dear friend R with the question, "What would be a cute Jensen/Misha AU?" She responded, "I really like RA Misha." And that was that. The title is a lyric from the song "Breathless" by The Corrs.

It’s pretty cliché, as far as college banalities go; if Jensen were to create a list, _crushing on your RA_ would probably end up in the top five along with _the freshman fifteen_ and _shmobs_.

He’s never considered himself a cliché – save for the whole ‘southern boy at a northern school’ thing and girls cooing over his accent – but here he is anyhow, frozen like a loser partway through brushing his teeth because the object of his unrequited affection just walked into the bathroom.

He really shouldn’t stare, Jensen thinks with some semblance of decency, not that he can necessarily help it. The guy’s in a ratty t-shirt and flannel pants, all around unfairly handsome, and meanwhile Jensen feels the Aquafresh start to burn across his tongue. 

“Hey, Jensen,” Misha smiles at him through the mirror.

His reply comes out garbled as he tries not to swallow any fluorine, since Misha having to phone a poison control center on his behalf would be, in short, mortifying. To his relief, the toothpaste stays where it should and Misha laughs good-naturedly like this is all very endearing, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls and settling low and warm in Jensen’s gut.

He eventually remembers to spit into the sink and splash his face with water, eyes sliding over to his RA whose head is also bent downward near the faucet. He continues to watch, which quickly turns out to be a terrible idea, because when Misha raises his head, Jensen sees the moisture trailing that strong jaw and clinging to dark lashes, skin flushed an attractive pink.

“How was your day?” Misha asks, and only then does Jensen cough and tear his gaze away. Smooth.

“Um... It was fine. I... turned in my paper. Thanks for looking it over for me.”

“Nah, it’s not like there was much to edit. You’re a good writer.”

“Oh,” Jensen blushes. “Thanks.”

Misha nods and turns to head out, holding the door and waiting for Jensen to follow. They pause for a moment once they’re back in the hallway, as their rooms are on opposite sides. 

“Good night,” Misha says first at Jensen’s silence, looking adorable with his mussed hair, the front of it still damp. He drags a corner of the towel draped around his neck across lips and stubble, a blend of pink and tan and distraction. Jensen almost forgets how he’s supposed to answer.

“You too,” he murmurs finally, something barely above a whisper.

It earns him a smile nonetheless, one that makes his heart rattle vulnerably in his chest.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The lounge smells like sugar and butter when they trickle in for their weekly floor meeting. There’s already a huge platter of cookies on the coffee table, which means that Misha’s stress baking, which tends to mean he’s at an impasse on a research paper and has succumbed to his favorite coping mechanism.

In lieu of joining his floor mates, whose eyes are rolling into the back of their heads from the shortbread, Jensen ambles to the attached kitchen and pokes his head inside, pointedly ignoring the knowing smile Felicia tosses his way. He finds Misha crouched by the oven door, one hand curled around the handle and eyes flitting to the timer every few seconds. His shirt is riding up a bit in the back and Jensen tries not to look at the exposed strip of skin above the waistband.

“I’m not gonna let you lick the bowl again, Osric,” Misha says, both eyes still trained on the oven.

Jensen glances behind him but there’s no one else in the kitchen, and eventually Misha frowns and turns toward the archway, the confusion dissipating when he realizes his error. 

“Sorry, just me,” Jensen shrugs sheepishly. 

“No reason to be-” The timer goes off in a series of obnoxious beeps, interrupting Misha’s response, but then he winks with a cheerful “They’re done,” which in return interrupts all of _Jensen’s_ thoughts. Misha slips on a sock monkey mitt to pull out the finished batch, setting it on the counter to cool. He’s got a smudge of flour on his cheekbone and it looks like he’s run a hand through his hair at least a dozen times tonight. Jensen’s belly jumps at the sight. 

“Wanna try one?”

Jensen blinks and Misha’s in front of him in a flash, holding up a cookie on a short stack of paper towels. Misha warns that it’s still hot but Jensen’s mouth waters at the aroma, and he thinks his RA truly spoils them as he takes it and lets the sweetness roll onto his tongue.

“It’s delicious.”

“Good,” Misha replies contentedly. His eyes then move to fixate on a point below Jensen’s own. “Hey, you’ve got...” The pad of his forefinger brushes Jensen’s bottom lip before his resident can react, the stray crumbs pressing into skin and falling away at the touch. Jensen sucks in a breath instinctively, body going still. Misha is just so _close_ , standing there with no regard for personal space. 

“Thanks.”

Jensen knows he sounds like some shy schoolgirl, the helplessness manifesting itself in the way he clutches the poor cookie a little too hard.

Misha’s demeanor, by comparison, is effortless and breezy as per usual. “Sure thing,” he says, lowering his hand and going to find another plate. Jensen mumbles something to the effect of telling the others that the meeting will start soon, and flees the space before he can really linger on the heat on his lips or the stutter of his heartbeat.

Nearly everyone from their floor is there by the time Misha emerges from the kitchen, only a few athletes absent due to various weekend away games. It’s halfway through spring semester and the enthusiasm for floor bonding has petered out for most of the campus, but the truth is they all adore Misha and would accept any excuse to spend time with him. It doesn’t hurt that he bakes for them, of course, fudge brownies last week, an actual cake the week before that (for Jensen’s birthday). Cookies, though, they usually happen when Misha’s having a rough day, obvious now in the fatigued manner with which he slumps onto the overused couch.

“Next weekend is the annual spring fest,” he begins, “and it’s kicking off on Thursday. Remember to be safe and responsible. Make me proud; I know you’ve got your heads screwed on straight. And alumni will be visiting and they _will_ be drunk so hide your wife, hide your kids.”

“Is Sigma Pi throwing any parties?” 

Misha laughs around a bite of his cookie. “Barbeque on Saturday. You should come watch me man the grill and get free food but, as far as basements go, avoid them. They’re disgusting.”

“You’re _in_ a frat, you know, in case you’ve forgotten,” Felicia teases from her perch on the armchair.

“Ah, only ironically.”

“If you’re just in it ironically, then why are you so good at pong,” Rob asks mournfully. 

“Because I’m a competitive asshole, Rob, and why are you complaining, you were my partner.” 

“Yeah, except I would’ve appreciated _some_ beer.”

Misha leans back against the cushion, the smile across his lips smug and playful. “That’s actually how I prevent you from drinking. The real reason I sneak out to practice every night.”

“Shut up, man,” Rob rolls his eyes, drawing laughs from the rest of them. They only laugh harder as a wad of paper towels flies from Rob’s hand and barely makes it past the edge of the table.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Jensen is about to turn in when he runs into Misha later that night, noticing the dark, windswept hair first as his RA shuffles up the stairs. There’s a dog-eared copy of _The Magic Mountain_ under Misha’s left arm, and that grey hoodie looks ridiculously good yet incongruous over those bright pajama pants, but Jensen’s pulse races anyway and he gestures weakly at the brick-like novel. 

“Reading on the roof again?”

Misha breathes out a laugh. “You caught me,” he confesses, cheeky grin and all. Jensen wonders if the guy’s aware of what that unassuming expression does to his nerves.

“Not afraid that I’ll rat on you?”

Misha’s eyes meet his at the question, their returned intensity strong enough to make Jensen squirm. “Think you like me too much to do something like that,” he replies easily, his tone practically matter-of-fact. The words embody a shrug but his parting smile is sincere, and there’s also a soft ‘good night’ spoken at some point that Jensen doesn’t quite catch.

He loiters in the hallway for a few minutes after Misha goes back to his room, feeling slightly off kilter and disoriented like his secret’s been found out somehow. He reminds himself that Misha was probably joking, no matter how serious he’d seemed, and only then is Jensen able to will his feet to move, their steps heavy and absentminded.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The first floor of their main library is packed at noon the next day, every Mac in Jensen’s pod occupied as he prints his latest reading assignment. Facebook is open on the screen to his right, the one to his left abandoned with just a book bag to claim the desk, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary since the whole purpose of this area is ‘face time’ - or so Jensen’s been told. 

Jensen weaves around the students and swivel chairs to make his way toward the printers, which is when he spots Misha leaning against the central info desk. He’s talking to the guy working there, whom Jensen recognizes as Matt, another freshman from one of his classes. He knows that Matt is also in Misha’s frat, was in fact his Little for all of fall term.

The two are obviously close, judging by how Misha bends forward to catch all of Matt’s words, even when Matt has to pause and un-jam the stapler for someone. Matt doesn’t stop laughing, though, and Misha’s grin is indication enough that it’s a conversation without room for anyone else. 

Jensen suddenly wishes he didn’t have to pass them to get to the printer. 

And Misha, of course, sees him before Jensen can figure out why he’s so strangely upset.

“Jensen!” he calls out, beckoning his resident over to join their cozy little powwow.

Jensen nods and goes to fetch the printouts before complying – reluctantly. “Hey, Misha.”

“Do you know Matt?” he waves at his friend, who smiles at Jensen with recognition, brown eyes going bright. Jensen abruptly thinks that maybe their color is something Misha’s noticed as well. 

“Yeah, we... We’re in the same lit class.”

“We are indeed. Hey, s’that the reading for Friday?” Matt gestures at the pages in Jensen’s hand. “Could I make a copy? Forgot to print mine earlier.”

“Sure.” 

Matt beams as he takes the packet. “Thanks, be right back.”

Misha watches Matt disappear into the small office behind them then turns his attention to Jensen, eyes every shade of blue and beautiful. “How’s your day going?” 

“Not too bad, I guess. I just have one class left.” 

“You had lab today?” 

Jensen gapes for a second, awed that Misha would have any idea whatsoever of his weekly schedule. “Yeah... How did you know?” 

“You’ve got that look. The ‘need caffeine and need it now’ craze in your eyes.”

“That obvious, huh?” 

Misha hums his affirmation, moving to set a forearm on the stand-up desk, resting his weight on the limb. The shift stretches the fabric of his t-shirt, which Jensen now registers as one from the local half-marathon, and he can’t decide whether that piece of knowledge makes everything worse; he’s seen what Misha looks like after his runs. “Text me if you wanna grab coffee after your class,” he hears Misha say after a moment, jarring him completely.

“Oh, um-”

“Done,” comes Matt’s voice from somewhere to his left. “Stapled it for ya too.” He hands a neatly bound packet over to Jensen, who murmurs his thanks, and proceeds to grab a backpack from beneath his workspace, slinging it across one shoulder. “Ready?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Misha replies. “We’re going to lunch but, um, yeah, coffee. If you want.” 

“Okay,” Jensen manages quietly, rooted to his spot while Misha and Matt start to walk toward the lobby. Misha casually loops an arm over Matt’s shoulders, ignoring the grumbles and opting instead to plant a loud, theatrical kiss on his Little’s cheek. 

“Oh god, can you please shave?” Matt complains, half-heartedly shoving an elbow into Misha’s side. Misha pulls away laughing and Jensen frowns before heading to the other exit, the one closer to the biology building. 

He doesn’t text Misha when his lecture ends.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Jensen does get coffee with Felicia a couple of days later, meeting up with her at the tiny café that sits on the edge of their campus. It’s sort of their ritual (she’s just as addicted to caffeine as he is), and Jensen can’t imagine the tradition ending any time soon, given their respective plans to major in bio and comp sci. Hello, endless all-nighters. 

“You’re in a mood,” she observes over her latte, one eyebrow perfectly arched above her huge, black-rimmed glasses. 

“No, I’m not,” Jensen shoots back out of sheer petulance, chalking his irritability up to an exam he sat for earlier in the day. He most definitely hasn’t been hissy since his encounter with Misha in the library, hasn’t been childishly avoiding his RA either. Felicia merely smiles and murmurs an "If you say so" with an indulgence way beyond her years. 

“Hey, look,” she then whispers out of the blue, directing Jensen’s gaze to the door. He turns to find Misha coming into the café with Alona, another floor mate of theirs, both of them going right to the window seats without seeing him or Felicia. Alona pulls out a few sheets of paper that she gives to Misha to read, and flips through a novel marked with Post-Its until he’s done. Jensen and Felicia resume their conversation though they’re sidetracked every now and again, and it’s about half an hour before Misha and Alona rise from their chairs. 

Felicia catches their attention, which soon has the two walking over, each holding an iced coffee. “Hey!” Alona greets cheerfully and there’s a brief silence where they all sort of stare at each other, one that Misha breaks when he peeks at his phone and says, “Shoot, I wanna stay but I’ve got class. See you all back on the floor?” 

He salutes them with his drink and they wave at him in unison, and the first thing Alona says when he leaves is, “Jensen, I actually did need help on my paper. You know I have a boyfriend.” It’s a total non-sequitur and he blinks, confusion wrinkling his forehead. 

“What?” 

“Sweetie, he’s in denial,” Felicia explains, which prompts Alona to nod conspiratorially and reply with an even more suspicious “Oh.” She sits down and they keep exchanging these meaningful glances, occasionally eyeballing Jensen like he’s some kind of cute gay project, and after a while Jensen prays for a way to maybe die politely at their table.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Jensen aggressively prays for that polite death when he’s dragged to the Sigma Pi barbeque the following Saturday, not so keen on having to navigate throngs of his buzzed, pinnie-adorned peers. He smells smoke and beer and cooking meat, would be nostalgic for home if it weren’t for the blaring, catchy pop number, and he sighs at Felicia thrusting a paper plate into his hands, shooing him conspicuously toward the grill.

Misha is half-veiled by a curtain of smoke, prongs in one hand, the other gesticulating wildly as he talks to his brothers. They’re all wearing their letters, Sigma Pi Nu appliquéd on t-shirts and embroidered on baseball caps, but Jensen’s glad that Misha hasn’t put on a hat, because his hair looks especially disheveled today and it’s pretty much the best thing ever.

“Hi,” Jensen says as he approaches the grill, cheeks flushed at Misha’s answering smile and hoping that the smoke will obscure their color.

“You made it,” Misha replies like he’s incredibly relieved that Jensen showed up. His eyes are so blue and disarmingly genuine and Jensen feels like he’s swallowing around a knot.

“Yeah, you made a compelling argument at our meeting,” 

Misha laughs, lifting the lid off a foil pan and reaching for Jensen’s plate. “I’m not so sure anymore. Should I be serving barbeque to a native Texan? Doth I risk the judgment?”

“You forget that, one, I’m a constantly hungry student and, two, that barbeque pits are nonexistent within a fifty-mile radius.”

“True,” Misha agrees as he transfers a sizable piece of brisket, which, Jensen’s surprised to note, appears fairly authentic. “So, I haven’t seen much of you lately. Classes keeping you busy?”

“Um, yeah, I just-” Jensen slips both hands into his pockets and rocks back on his feet. “Midterms,” he finishes lamely, which isn’t really a lie.

“Mm,” Misha says, sort of cryptic, hanging the prongs on a little hook attached to the grill. He spares another second to study Jensen’s expression then hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the front door. “I have to grab some more seasoning. Come on, I’ll show you the house.”

The inside isn’t as crowded as the lawn, though all the couches are still taken by guys and girls alike. Jensen scans the composites on the walls, trying to pick out Misha’s picture, but the photographs are annoyingly small and there are about a hundred too many of them. He trails Misha past the common areas, entering a room he assumes is the kitchen. What he doesn’t anticipate is the mess that covers the counters and the linoleum floor, and he highly doubts that Misha will be able to find anything in this impossible mess. 

“Is your basement worse than _this_?” he asks. 

Misha bursts out laughing like there’s no reason for concern. “Way worse, trust me.” He taps an empty soda bottle away from his path as he comes to stand in front of Jensen, and he suddenly looks so serious that Jensen stops worrying about the poor guy assigned clean-up duty. “Listen,” Misha starts, quiet and hushed. “Would you...” 

“Yeah?” 

“You know, uh, Greek houses have this... thing. Every term. We dress up, eat catered food, drink cheap champagne. Bring... dates.” 

Wait. Wait, no, Jensen must’ve heard wrong. “Are you...” 

Misha ducks his head and scuffs his shoe against the floor, everything uncharacteristically timid and throwing Jensen for a loop. When he glances back up, Misha’s face is soft in the light from the window, eyes wide and blue. He sounds a bit scared and nervous and hopeful as he says, “Do you want to go to formal with me?” 

“I...” Jensen’s heart is knocking around in his chest. “Are you sure?” 

It’s Misha’s turn to shift on his feet, but he’s smiling, and it’s wonderful. “I’ve been sure for a while.” 

 _A while_. Jensen can’t breathe. “I mean, it- Your, um, brothers... wouldn’t mind?” 

“If they were guys who cared, I wouldn’t be in this house.” Misha peers at him through his eyelashes, clearly nervous again. “Is... that a yes, then?” 

Jensen rubs the back of his neck, the room having become several degrees hotter in the last minute. “Yes,” he answers shyly, half-suspended in disbelief, but he’s certain that this is real when Misha releases the breath he was holding and replies, “Great. I was pretty worried you’d say no.” 

Jensen shakes his head, incredulous that Misha would even think that, and they’re a few paces from the door when he remembers why they came in here to begin with. “Didn’t you need seasoning?” 

The grin he receives this time is more familiar, lopsided and cocky yet endearingly so. “Nope,” Misha says, ushering Jensen out of the kitchen. “Just needed a reason to lure you away.” 

Jensen rolls his eyes, but blushes all the same.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“You have to take a million pictures!” Alona cries from her spot on Jensen’s bed, both legs tucked beneath her as she furiously texts second-by-second updates to god knows how many people. 

“ _Who_ are you texting?” Jensen grumbles over his shoulder, hands occupied with his tie. Felicia’s by his laptop, reading out excerpts from eHow articles, and Jensen starts to really regret letting them into his room once he hears, “Tease him to show off your fun and vivacious side!” 

“We already know each other,” he sighs. “I don’t need to ‘play it coy.’” 

“You should _always_ play it coy!” Alona insists like she’s personally offended that Jensen would believe otherwise. “Just, twirl your tie. Smile a lot.”

“I will do no such thing,” Jensen says, inspecting his (passable) knot in the mirror. He silently thanks Jared for express-mailing him the tie as well as his mom for making him pack some nice clothes back in September; he couldn’t attend a formal in plaid and jeans after all, despite Misha’s assurances that they could always stick it to the system and wear pajamas.

“Jay, your phone’s buzzing,” Felicia tells him before swiping the screen herself. “It’s Misha. He just got back from his shift at the bookstore so he’ll meet you at the house. He’s already told Matt to keep you company and looks forward to tonight. Smiley face.” 

“Agh,” Alona buries her face in her hands, blond locks tumbling across her shoulders. “You two are gonna be so disgustingly cute. I love it.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Sure enough, Matt commandeers him the moment Jensen steps through the door, guiding them toward the drinks table where a few other guys are chatting with their dates. Matt introduces everyone, though it’s hard to keep track of all the names, but the brothers are chill and soon there’s a drink in Jensen’s hand as he talks to one of them about club lacrosse. 

“... definitely try it out. Our next practice is Thursday.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Jensen nods, tilting his head further when the junior grins and says, “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He then feels a hand catch his elbow, gently turning him around, and his breath hitches at the sight of Misha in slacks and a navy blazer, topped with a tie that brings out his eyes. He’s never seen Misha like this, pressed and buttoned up and, well, formal. It takes him by surprise, how insanely attractive he finds it all. 

“Hey,” Misha smiles, sounding a little breathless. Jensen can just picture him rushing across campus to get here, and a warmth flares in his chest at the thought. “You look great.” 

“Thanks.” Jensen tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, then lets go. “I came dangerously close to wearing flannel.” 

“You’d look good either way,” Misha shrugs, and his smile refuses to wane. 

Jensen would’ve replied, or at least attempted to be coherent, but then they’re interrupted by a pair of guys that encroach their space in an unceremonious, wolf-whistling cloud. Based on Misha’s indignant sigh and exaggerated eye roll, they’re likely his closest friends in the house, and so he begrudgingly introduces Jensen to Richard and Seb, describing the latter as Sigma Pi’s “token international student, ‘cause we have to accept one for every pledge class.” 

“We were super curious,” Richard explains, just as Jensen starts to feel akin to a specimen beneath a microscope. “Mish has never brought anyone to formal before.” 

“Really?” Jensen raises an eyebrow at Misha, who clears his throat and looks away. 

“We tried _everything_ ,” Seb chimes in dramatically. “Set him up with tall guys, short guys, engineers, pre-meds, nutheads. If we’d known he was looking to rob the bloody _cradle_ , I would have narrowed my search to freshmen years ago.” 

Misha slaps a palm over his face. “Oh my god,” he groans, “Seb, you are such a little shit.” 

“Love you too,” Seb answers breezily, as though they exchange this same banter on a daily basis. “Be gentle with him, Jensen. He’s our most delicate brother, you know.” 

Jensen stamps down on the laughter threatening to bubble out, blocking it with a hand to his mouth and watching Misha glare daggers at his unrelenting friends. When they eventually head outside to pile onto the awaiting bus, it takes an ungodly degree of puppy dog eyes for Misha to let Richard and Seb ensconce his and Jensen’s row with their dates. 

“Smile!” Richard’s date holds up her phone, angling it downward to their faces. Jensen obliges and Misha shifts closer as well, but when the camera clicks Misha’s lips are on Jensen’s cheek, leaving Jensen staring wide-eyed into the lens. “That’s adorable,” Jaci coos, her and Richard both disappearing behind the leather seatback. Jensen sneaks a glance at Misha, whose hands are fidgeting in his lap, and he tentatively presses his leg into Misha’s as a tell that what just happened was more than okay, smiling when Misha relaxes. 

The venue is not ten minutes away from campus, a clubhouse with a huge space in the back where a tent has been raised for the event. Jensen is honestly impressed by the setup, the linens and romantic lights a far cry from the usual scenery at school. He’s gotten dinner with Misha before, more often last semester when Misha made it a point to get to know all of his residents. Tonight, of course, is obviously different, strayed from their normal routine, because not only is everything fancier but Jensen is also here as Misha’s date.

Fortunately, that little fact doesn’t interfere with their conversation, which flows like it always has. Any reticence Misha displayed on the bus is long gone now, and he’s back to injecting a subtle undercurrent of flirtation into his words, his gaze, his proximity. Jensen can’t decide what to focus on, wanting to listen and soak up the visuals, maybe touch whenever he feels brave enough. His eyes drift to Misha’s rolled-up sleeves, to the color high on those tanned cheeks. Misha frankly overwhelms him, has done so since the day Jensen moved into the dorms. 

“Do you want some of my cake?” Misha asks, voice cutting through the surrounding noise as if Jensen’s ears are attuned to it. “I know you like chocolate more than I do.” 

Jensen smiles and reaches for his fork, sinks it gratuitously into the rich frosting. It’s not until he looks up again that he takes in the empty chairs at the neighboring tables. “Where is everybody?” 

“Dancing,” Misha says, lips curling mischievously. “Do you dance?” 

“Uh.” Jensen reflects on his prom and wonders if making fun of Jared’s flailing and Chris’ robot counts as dancing. Probably not. “Can’t really say that I do.” 

“Seb will be entertaining to watch, at the very least,” Misha muses, while Jensen follows the wave of his hand over to the dance floor. He sees Seb occupying an arm span’s worth of room at the center, hips shaking as he circles his date who’s cracking up to the point of tears. It does look pretty fun, silly without being awkward. Jensen’s a bit less inhibited himself, thanks to the champagne he drank back at the house, and before he knows it, Jensen is standing, extending his hand to a pleasantly surprised Misha. 

“Let’s go.” 

The first ten minutes are spent cheering and hollering at Seb, who seems to neither tire nor run out of ridiculous dance moves. He and his date eventually leave to take a break, and the circle fills in their absence, shepherding Jensen and Misha to the middle of it.

Misha crowds in close to Jensen, close enough that Jensen can feel his breath on his lips. He inhales sharply, smelling soap and shampoo and sweat, and gasps again when Misha’s gaze darts from his mouth to his eyes. Misha looks amazing, hotter than he has the right to be, haphazard tie and all. The top buttons of his shirt are undone behind the loosened knot, and it’s pink where his skin is flushed prettily at his face and neck. 

Jensen isn’t sure where he finds the courage, whether it’s the loud music making him crazy or if the jostling around them literally pushes him to go for it. Either way, he leans in on a raucous downbeat, tipping his face forward until Misha doubles in his vision, and then he finally feels Misha’s lips on his, warm and chapped and perfect. It’s unreal and he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, afraid that he might blink and wake up, won’t get to keep this otherwise. He can count each of Misha’s eyelashes, can feel the rasp of stubble against his chin. He nearly loses himself in the tiny details, standing so close like this, but Misha catches him by curving both of his hands on Jensen’s waist. 

The security allows Jensen’s eyes to flutter closed, his senses taking a backseat to touch as he concentrates on Misha and Misha alone. His fingers clutch at Misha’s shirt, rumpling it terribly, but heat radiates through the fabric, onto his skin, and Jensen can’t seem to care about much else. He can’t help the little noises either, ones that escape when Misha’s tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. There’s teeth that follow, just a light scrape of them that makes Jensen whimper, and he feels rather than hears Misha’s groan before they’re kissing harder, moving apart after minutes, seconds, an hour; Jensen can’t really tell.

Misha presses his forehead against Jensen’s, panting softly, the corners of his mouth turned up in a private smile. He is beautiful, which Jensen always knew, but now he has something, a memory, to treasure entirely as his own. 

“Should we dance?” Jensen whispers, hand gliding to Misha’s chest where a heartbeat thrums rapidly beneath his palm.

Misha huffs a breath of laughter that ghosts across Jensen’s lips. “Only if you want to.” 

“I want to,” Jensen smiles, placing his hands over Misha’s where they rest firmly on his waist. He glimpses fond amusement twinkling in blue before Misha comes closer and starts to rock smoothly against him, which, okay, stuns Jensen momentarily because it isn't fair that the guy can dance too.

But Jensen isn’t so bad at it himself, knows how to move with the pace of the music. He waits for a song change, uses the transition to smile up at Misha and turn around. Luckily, the track is something slower, sultry with a languid bass beat, and Jensen pushes back until their bodies are fitted together, Misha’s grip tighter on his hips. 

“Jensen...” Misha sounds caught off guard, like he never imagined Jensen to initiate anything such as this. It takes him a moment to get with the program but when he does, Misha predictably drives Jensen crazy, breathing hotly against Jensen’s neck and dropping kisses on that sensitive patch of skin. Jensen sighs and reaches behind him, fitting his hand into Misha’s hair. He blindly messes it up and Misha grins into his next kiss, the curve of it damp beside Jensen’s collar and its heat felt down to the soles of his feet. 

The floor is suddenly too small, too crowded, too stifling despite the fact that the tent’s open on all sides. Misha is sturdy against his back, his hands gentle yet possessive, and everything about it sets Jensen’s nerve endings on fire. He rocks back with more urgency, and his fingers might be leaving bruises given how hard they’re grasping Misha’s thigh through his slacks.

They dance like that for maybe three or four songs, Misha’s hand occasionally roaming over Jensen’s stomach, his playful mouth nipping at the shell of his ear. Jensen lets out a helpless, breathy noise each time, flushed and aroused from alcohol and stimulation. The playlist then switches to a more sugary variety, as if the DJ were afraid of enabling their hormones to get too far out of control. The major key causes the grinding to slow, and Misha spins him around, pulling him forward for this awesome, growly kiss that makes Jensen all but slump against him. 

“You wanna stay and hang out or head back?” Misha asks sometime after ten, when the formal chair takes the mic to announce that the first bus will depart in five minutes. 

Jensen stares into the depth of those blue eyes, notices the heated flash within them, and he swallows hard as he replies, “I think we can save hanging out for another time.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The bus ride to campus is more or less a blur, what with the two of them being pressed side by side, their hands wandering and clasping in a tangle. Misha kisses his cheek again, and Jensen doesn’t know why he blushes so furiously at that even after all the dancing and making out. 

Jensen waits while Misha bids hasty goodbyes to his friends, most of whom try to persuade him to join the last-minute pong tourney begun in the basement. But Misha shakes his head, tells them that he and Jensen made other plans, which earns him several ‘Fine, you’re so damn whipped’s and a totally lewd wink from Richard. 

“Good to go,” Misha says as he saunters up to Jensen at the door, taking his hand and leading him out to the porch then down the steps, onto the road. The sky’s been clear all day, now smattered with stars, which Jensen finds gross and definitely not romantic.

(He also doesn’t sidle up closer to Misha even though the sidewalk is plenty wide for both of them.)

“So, how come you’ve never brought a date to formal?” Jensen hazards, sincerely hoping that the question won’t kill the mood. He’s simply curious because, according to his inside sources a.k.a. Alona and Felicia, Misha gets asked to other formals quite a bit. 

“I always had a good time regardless,” Misha shrugs, swinging their held hands like a kid, making Jensen laugh. “I also didn’t have anyone I wanted to invite before, uh, you know.” 

“No, I don’t think I know,” Jensen teases, laughs when Misha sighs and shoots him a crooked smile. 

“Before I met you,” Misha admits, quieter and mellow. The four words, strung together, seem to flutter deep in Jensen’s belly like butterflies. “And I would’ve asked you last semester too, but my supervisor _highly_ discouraged it.” 

“You-” Jensen’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You asked your boss about bringing me?” 

“Well, yeah. Hated that I had to, obviously, but...” Misha’s eyes focus on a random point ahead, and there’s an unmistakable blush spreading across his cheek. “She said spring term would be less problematic, when it’s closer to the end of the year.” 

“Wait, so... You first asked back in-” 

“September,” Misha finishes for him. “I told you I’ve been sure for a while.” 

Jensen stops walking then, which also tugs Misha to a halt by his hand. Misha tilts his head in question, and Jensen answers with one soft kiss to his lips.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The floor is fairly empty, normal for a Saturday night, and for that Jensen is grateful as he and Misha stumble into the hall. He laughs breathlessly at Misha dragging him into his room, kicks the door shut with his foot, and a second later he’s pushed up against the surface with Misha biting at and licking into his mouth. Jensen releases whimpering noises from the back of his throat when their hips bump together, clutches onto Misha like a lifeline. Which is why he moans when Misha lets him go, colder air hitting his lips in an unwelcome rush. 

Misha’s eyes follow the noise, narrowing and focusing, containing enough heat to induce a shudder down Jensen’s spine. Jensen bites his lip and meets the blue through his lashes, hand reaching out tentatively to wrap around Misha’s tie. 

“Jensen,” Misha murmurs, voice already wrecked as it speaks past lush, swollen lips. “We- You know we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can go slow.” 

“I know,” Jensen breathes, pulling Misha closer with one hand and cupping his chin with the other. “But I’ve been thinking about this since September too, and-” he smiles, wide with teeth and flirt. “It’s April now, in case you haven’t checked.” 

Misha laughs indulgently, his own hands migrating from Jensen’s waist to his hips. “Oh, I’ve checked,” he says, tone low and dirty, and he steps forward to kiss Jensen again like he’s absolutely hungry for it. They kiss until Jensen is dizzy with it, which prompts Misha to move and mouth along Jensen’s jaw instead. He pulls the hem of Jensen’s button-down from where it was tucked into his waistband, and Jensen arches his back as Misha slips his palms underneath the fabric. 

“ _Misha_ ,” Jensen gasps, the touch too much and not enough all at once. 

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Misha replies between kisses, firming his grip on Jensen’s skin. He then proceeds to manhandle Jensen to his bed and onto it, which, _fuck_ , pushes buttons Jensen didn’t even know he had.

Once he has Jensen situated on the mattress, however, Misha decides to take his time. He leaves a trail of kisses down Jensen’s neck, undoing his buttons one... infuriating... clasp... at a time, and it’s sweet but agonizing because Misha’s body just feels so, so good against his. Jensen can only groan, pants suddenly too tight and breaths coming ragged and desperate, and when he can’t take it anymore he grabs Misha’s shoulders and demands, “Will you please get on with it?” 

Misha glances up and honest-to-god smirks, a smugness that somehow stirs Jensen’s blood. He clicks his tongue and hums “Impatient?” like it’s even a question, and wow, yeah, Jensen apparently has a weakness for sexy bastards – or perhaps just a weakness for Misha. 

“Shut up and-” Jensen huffs in protest, in frustration, fingers flexing over Misha’s shirt and _this_ close to flying down and unbuckling his damn pants himself. He’s about to tell Misha as much, but then Misha jumps on the same wavelength just in time, and Jensen breathes a sigh of relief when Misha’s hand travels south to where he wants it. 

“Who knew you’d be so bossy,” Misha grins, unzipping Jensen’s fly and pulling the boxers and slacks off of him in one swift drag. Jensen hisses at the fabric brushing his cock, the sound melting into a moan at Misha settling between his legs, and then it occurs to him that Misha is still fully dressed, which inexplicably spurs on his arousal. Misha must figure this out too, because he skips removing his own clothes and goes straight to wrapping a hand around Jensen’s straining erection. He slides his fingers up once, then back down, tightening and loosening, making Jensen writhe. He then takes away all of his fingers save for one and skims it gently across the swelling length, running through the wetness at the head, spreading it till Jensen cries out. 

“Misha-” Jensen’s chest rises and falls, every breath shaky and damp. “Please, Misha... Just-” 

The pleading is silenced with a kiss, which Jensen shamelessly moans into when Misha sets a slow, steady pace from base to tip. He fists the sheets each time Misha’s thumb swipes across the slit, and shivers each time Misha’s wrist offers a deft twist that lights up pleasure along his nerves. 

“This okay?” Misha asks, nipping at Jensen’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, voice broken and frantic. “Yes. _God_ , Misha...” His hips jerk upward at a particularly ruthless twist, Misha’s fingertips slicking the precome, making him tremble and moan. He wants more, though, wants to take more, wants to be greedy when it comes to Misha. So he stops Misha’s hand with his own and says, “Misha, there’s-” 

Misha ceases his movement in an instant, and Jensen’s heart races at the concern that meets his eyes. “Is something wrong?” Misha frowns, lines formed between his brows that Jensen wishes to kiss away. Jensen’s skin tingles and he licks his lips, shaking his head adamantly for Misha’s sake. 

“No, I- It’s...” 

“Hey.” Misha bends down to kiss his forehead, and Jensen isn’t sure if his heartbeat hammers less or more at the affection. “You can tell me anything.”

Jensen sighs, tries again. “I just... want more,” he says, fiddling with the end of Misha’s tie where it tickles his bare stomach. “... More of you.” 

He sees Misha suck in a breath but not move otherwise, remaining so still that Jensen’s afraid that he might’ve broken him – ruined everything. “Misha?” he hedges, eyes wide and nervous and searching. It’s not until Misha kisses him that the imminent panic subsides, and Jensen didn’t know it was possible to sag against someone while lying down. 

“You’re sure?” Misha asks. “I can- You want me to?” 

Jensen laughs, a shy, happy thing, and pushes his hand through Misha’s totally irreparable hair. “Yeah, I do.” 

Misha nods and leans into Jensen’s touch before shifting his weight away, opening a drawer in his bedside table, fishing for a condom and lube. He then returns to his spot on the bed and gathers Jensen close again, pouring the gel into his open palm and slathering his fingers wet and slick. 

He kisses Jensen and doesn’t stop as he reaches down to spread the lube between his legs; Jensen gasps, bucks his hips, and instinctively tries to push back into the pressure. Misha lets Jensen grip his wrist tight when he finds the knot of muscle, greasing it with lube and smiling at Jensen’s sheer responsiveness to his touch. His eyes are bright, glinting, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard as he swallows in anticipation, and Jensen thinks it’s simply unjust how devastatingly gorgeous he is. 

Misha is patient as he works Jensen open, petting and stroking to relax him. Jensen hums his approval, loves it when Misha dips down to lavish attention on his chest, and he groans long and pleased at Misha slipping in the first digit, just to the knuckle to start. 

“Is that-” 

“Keep going,” Jensen practically purrs, head lolling back at the second one, the feel of the two pumping in and out of him. They’re circling, and pushing, nudging at his sensitive walls, and Jensen’s body is increasingly eager for them, for more, for Misha to claim every bit of it. 

“You ready?” Misha whispers, doing something clever with his fingers that shoots a shock of pleasure from the base of Jensen’s spine. He notes the rapid-fire reaction and does it again, and again, pulling back only when Jensen grasps his sleeves and begs, all breathlessness and parted lips. 

“Misha, yes, I’m- Please.” 

“Come here,” Misha murmurs, tugging Jensen’s hand and maneuvering them around on the bed. He lies on his back so that Jensen is straddled above him on his knees, and their eyes meet dark and lust-blown while Misha takes the condom and unrolls it over his cock. Jensen watches and waits for Misha to lube himself up, fingers curling impatiently into Misha’s shirt, pants rustling against the flesh of his thighs. It really can’t be long enough before Misha beckons him, tells him to go slow, and Jensen nods before positioning himself over him. 

They both groan as Jensen sinks onto Misha’s cock, remembering to go slow but not hesitating, taking Misha in full without pause or warning. The sound of his breathing is loud in his ears, and Jensen hunches forward because, god, Misha feels huge inside him. 

“Shit...” he breathes, mouth opened in awe, overcome by Misha throbbing within him, spreading him wide and slick and amazing. 

“Alright?” Misha asks, hands caressing everywhere they can touch. He lets out a soft, muffled moan when Jensen leans down to briefly capture his mouth, an unhurried grazing of lips.

“You feel so good,” Jensen sighs into the kiss, his palms on Misha’s chest for balance as he rises back up and smiles down. 

Misha mirrors the smile then rolls his lips, ripping a sound of pleasure right from Jensen’s lungs. 

Jensen’s mind is blown by the sensation of Misha moving beneath him, in him, filling his body to the brim. Hot, greedy hands clutch at his thighs when Jensen lifts and lowers his weight, and confidence begins to line his movements once he witnesses their immediate effect on Misha. 

“Fuck, Jensen,” Misha grits out over the sharp glut of arousal, gasping at Jensen leaning back, adjusting incrementally around his cock. Every inch of him radiates heat, seeping through the clothes right onto Jensen’s naked skin, and Jensen thinks it might scorch their bodies from the inside out, just burn and burn till there’s nothing left of them.

The pressure starts to tighten low in his abdomen and Jensen rocks forward, harder than he has yet. His nerves are ablaze and Misha groans, gruff and full of want, and their hands seek the other out as they ride out the sensation together. 

“ _Misha_ ,” he pleads when gel-slicked fingers find his erection a second time. It’s a surprise but one that makes him moan, doesn’t startle him at all because it’s Misha and he could never get enough. 

“Jensen, look at me,” Misha breathes, a warm, tender request that Jensen can’t refuse, wouldn’t ever want to refuse. He complies and Misha’s heavy gaze hooks him in a heartbeat, consuming Jensen’s attention while Misha slowly pushes himself upright. 

Strong arms wind around Jensen’s waist to pull him down, counter to the thrusts that are intense and determinedly so. Jensen buries his face in Misha’s neck, whimpers into the skin as he moves, and then Misha hits that spot inside him, and stars erupt like white nova behind his eyelids. His cock pulses in Misha’s grip, close, so very close. Then suddenly, he’s-

Misha shifts him, Jensen thinks, tugs him closer, cants his hips. Whatever it is, it’s enough, sends Jensen careening toward the sweet punch of ecstasy. He comes with a shout, feels like he’s falling apart, feels like his skin’s too tight and oversensitive and now Misha’s hips are bucking hard and fast, making him dry sob against his throat. 

“Oh god,” Misha pants, surging into the body that bears down on him, sheathing him in impossible heat. “Jensen, babe, I-” 

“Yeah, Mish, come on.”

Jensen wraps both arms around Misha’s neck, holds him steady, the shirt beneath his hands damp over rippling cords of muscle. They’re grunting, groaning, Jensen grinding into Misha’s hips, intent on driving him to climax. His fingers dig into fabric, his ass tightens on Misha’s cock, and then something sparks and Misha is racing after him, tensing and pulsing white-hot with both of them lost, lost in each other.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Jensen can’t move for a few minutes after that, or perhaps he can and doesn’t want to, wants to be pressed close to Misha forever. 

Misha recovers first, though, and switches their position so it’s Jensen’s back touching the sheets once more. He withdraws carefully, pausing to catch his breath, but returns willingly when Jensen tugs on his tie and drags him down for a kiss. Their lips slide, their tongues meet, and Misha tastes like champagne and something sweet that Jensen can’t quite place. 

He wouldn’t mind trying to decipher it, could devote himself to the task, and that is precisely what he decides to do as Misha bumps their noses and asks what’s on his mind.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The first thing Jensen sees the next morning is the hard plane of Misha’s chest, and it takes a longer, sleep-addled moment for him to register the arm curled around his shoulders. His face is tucked into the crook of Misha’s neck and he stills, not wanting to wake him, and soon he’s blinking owlishly and wondering how he can move without- 

“I can hear you think.” 

God, Misha sounds delectable, voice rough and filled with sleep. Jensen feels Misha’s lips press a kiss into his hair and he’s blushing as he mumbles “Good morning,” pulling away slightly so they can look at each other. Misha’s a bit bleary-eyed but then he smiles all crooked and lazy, causing Jensen’s breath to catch. “I should, um,” Jensen gestures vaguely at himself, “go get changed?” 

Misha shakes his head. “No.” 

Jensen blinks. “What?” He barely has a second to wonder if Misha’s still half-asleep before he’s pulled in again, gasping at the suddenness.

Misha’s arm tightens around him, warm and sure and solid, and then he hears “Not gonna let you do the walk of shame,” which makes Jensen huff and roll his eyes. 

“Mish... I’m five doors down from you.” 

“Don’t care,” Misha says resolutely. “You can wear my clothes.” His arm then loosens its grip and caresses Jensen’s back, fingertips tickling skin. “And we’re getting breakfast in town. Gonna share food and be gross. No arguments.” 

Jensen smiles against Misha’s chest and snuggles a bit closer. “Yeah, no arguments there.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Extra:**

Alona and Felicia are not thrilled to find exactly zero formal pictures on Jensen’s phone. They are, however, somewhat placated by the photo of Misha kissing Jensen’s cheek, as well as the news that they are now officially together. Osric takes the liberty to hack into Jensen’s Facebook account and change his status to In A Relationship with Misha Collins, and all twenty-three of his floor mates start up a humongous debate in the comments about ‘who saw it coming’ and ‘how much merciless teasing is too merciless.’

Sigma Pi throws a semi-formal a month afterward, a party at the house where everyone’s required to attend in costumes. Jensen and Misha show up as Calvin and Hobbes, and triumphantly win the costume contest despite Seb’s outcry that they’ve forever ruined his childhood.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm getting addicted to including Extras, in case you haven't noticed. :) Sigma Pi Nu is not a real fraternity, as far as I know. I only picked the letters because they spell out SPN.
> 
> Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! Feel free to also hit me up on [Tumblr](http://puppycastiel.tk/post/101901370940/pumpkinpiedestiel-jensen-misha-au-its-pretty).


End file.
